The moth found me, even here, even locked in this room. And the certainty burrows deep beneath my skin.

“Go away,” I whisper, my words desperate and thin.

It spins and thumps against the window—thump, thump, thump—searching for a way inside. To reach me. So it can brush its wings against my skin, mark me, so death can find me more easily.

Death is coming.

My body pulses and I slide against the wall, dropping to the floor, tucking my knees to my chin. Anything to block out the sound. Thump-thump-thump. “Stop it!” I scream, I plead.

My heartbeat is a percussion in my chest, the same rhythm as its wings.

“Go away. Go away. Go away,” I whisper into my hands. Until it’s all I hear.

All that fills my ears.

OLIVER

I have to find her.

The lake is impossibly dark; it swallows up the stars as I circle around the shore. Certain this place, these mountains, are watching every move I make.

I remember enough now—enough to know I can’t trust the others. The past is a blurred wreck in my mind: the cemetery, the taste of booze in my throat, the laughter. The feeling of my fists clenched at my sides, ready for a fight. Still, I recall enough to know that they are capable of awful things.

And I think only of her, of Nora.

They don’t trust her. The witch in the woods.

I need to find her, make sure she’s okay, and keep her safe.

Turning away from the lake, I hike up through the pines toward her house. I know she won’t want to see me. I know that whatever I say, she won’t want to hear it, she won’t let me in—and this hurts worse than anything. But I have to try. I don’t need her to trust me, I just need her to stay away from Rhett and Jasper and Lin.

I knock on the door and hold my breath until my lungs start to burn and ache.

Memories flit through me. I remember the way Max tipped his head back in the cemetery, taking a long gulp of whiskey. How he eyed me like he was daring me to make the first move, to say something that would piss him off. But I wasn’t afraid. I felt something else: anger.

I bring my fist to the door again and knock harder, waiting for Nora to come, to peek through the curtains. But she never does. Something’s wrong. The house is too dark, no candlelight through the windows. And I can hear Fin—the wolf—whining from the other side, a sad whimper. I try the knob and the door swings open.

Night swallows the place whole. No candles. No fire in the woodstove.